Page 45 of Her Beast

“Where am I? What am I doing here?”

The woman smiled politely at her rude interruption. “I am Kemp. If you’ll allow me to help you get dressed, you can come to breakfast, and those questions will be answered.”

Julia opened her mouth to vent her spleen, but one look at the older woman’s opaque expression convinced her that arguing was pointless.

“Fine,” she said.

“Shall I fill the tub or would you like a shower-bath?”

“Neither. I will wash my face, you may brush and plait my hair, and then I will get dressed.”

“As you wish.”

The next ten minutes passed in tense silence.

Once Julia’s hair was coiled into a neat and tidy crown Kemp opened one of the cupboard doors in the enormous dressing room, exposing built-in racks of clothing, shoes, hats, coats, and every other garment a woman could need or desire.

“Would you like to wear a—”

“I want my clothing.Mine.”

The maid hesitated and, for a moment, Julia thought she might argue.

Julia would have relished some open conflict.

But Kemp merely opened another door. Inside were only her dress, underthings, velvet cloak, and slippers.

Julia felt far more herself once she was garbed in her familiar dinner gown, no matter how inappropriate it might be. The dress was her favorite, not just because it was beautiful, but because she’d had to fight Nadine to have it. Her stepmother had believed the black and white pattern was too mature for a nineteen-year-old.

For once, her father had sided with Julia. “It’s far better than all those frills and bows she usually wears, my dear. Let her have the gown.”

Although her father hadn’t known it, his words were a direct insult to his wife because it was Nadine, and not Julia, who was responsible for Julia’s frilly, over-embellished gowns.

In any event, today her favorite gown felt like armor. “I’m ready,” she said to Kemp.

The hallway outside her room was paneled in dark wood, the floor carpeted with a plush Aubusson runner, the lights covered with magnificent hand-blown glass shades in jewel tones.

They took several turns and she scrambled to memorize her way, using the landscape paintings they passed as markers. Several of the paintings looked so familiar that she supposed they must be well-executed reproductions of famous works.

Finally, Kemp stopped in front of a door that was larger than the others and opened it.

Julia hesitated, looking at the older woman rather than into the room. “Who will I be meeting?”

“He will tell you what you need to know.” She hesitated, and then added in a warmer voice. “Don’t be afraid, Miss Harlow, the master won’t hurt you.”

“I’m not afraid,” Julia lied. And then she squared her shoulders and walked through the doorway.

Chapter 9

Julia didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the fairytale she walked into.

Rather than a room, it was a greenhouse—the most magical one she’d ever seen.

“The greenhouse runs along the entire south side of the roof,” Kemp said. “If you follow the path”—she gestured to a miniature tree-lined avenue—“it will lead you to the dining room.” And then she gave a slight curtsey and exited the door they’d just come through.

Julia turned in a circle, gaping at the idyllic pond—complete with a miniature waterfall—trees that held dozens of tiny, brightly colored birds, and exotic blooms that looked twice as shocking in the middle of winter.

The air inside was humid and almost tropical, or at least what she imagined the tropics to feel like. The glass ceiling soared perhaps twenty feet above her head and outside was the gray London sky, but no snow clung to the peaked roof. Judging by the angle of the sun it was well after midday.

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